


Breath Of Life

by Nostalgia_101



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8149160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nostalgia_101/pseuds/Nostalgia_101
Summary: iZombie AUEmma Swan had been through a lot of shitty things in her life, but becoming a zombie definitely topped the list. To satisfy her newfound appetite for brains Emma quit her job as a medical resident and began work at the Storybrooke morgue. The only side effect of eating said brains? Temporarily inheriting the victim’s personality traits and memories, which Emma passes off as ‘psychic visions’. The only person who knows her secret is Killian Jones, her boss and her new best friend. He’s determined to help her find a cure and remind her that not all hope is lost.





	1. Chapter 1

Emma conceded that in the three months she’d been working in Storybrooke’s coroner’s office she’d stumbled upon a few perks. Firstly, the place was deathly quiet ninety per cent of the time, which was a nice change of pace. Secondly, she had a lot of time to think up death-related puns. And thirdly, ever since her boss Killian Jones discovered she was a zombie and became her new best friend instead of freaking the fuck out and going all Rick Grimes on her ass, she felt pretty comfortable playing undead MasterChef in the morgue’s break room any time she liked.

“Nothing like the aroma of fried frontal lobe to whet a person’s appetite, Swan.”

Emma grinned at Killian as he took a seat at their small kitchen table, placing a cardboard tray with two large drinks and a Granny’s takeaway bag in front of him. “Ooh, so close yet so far,” she said, adding another dash or ten of sriracha sauce to her microwaved noodles so she’d actually be able to taste something. “I’ve gone occipital today.” She picked up a chunk of brain and popped it into her mouth.

“Visual cortex to aide with the visions, I like your style,” said Killian, unravelling the bag to pull out a cheeseburger and onion rings.

“Carrots have dominated the eyesight trade for far too long,” she said, pushing the microwave door shut with her elbow. “I’m taking a stand.” She joined Killian at the table, giving him a smile of thanks when he lifted out a paper cup to hand to her. Emma opened the lid and breathed in the scent of hot cocoa before picking up the shaker of chilli flakes next to the salt and pepper and adding a hefty dose. “And to think I used to get funny looks when I added cinnamon,” she sighed, stirring it through with one of her chopsticks. “I miss those days.”

Killian took a generous bite of his burger. “You’ll have those days again, love,” he said around a mouthful of food. “My zombie cure may be a work in progress but I won’t rest until it’s done.” He wiped a smear of ketchup from his bottom lip, licking it off the pad of his thumb. “Perhaps then everyone won’t mistake you for the corpses,” he said with a smirk, dodging out of the way before an onion ring hit his face. “Oi, just because you can’t taste them doesn’t mean you can waste them.”

“Shut up or I’ll eat you,” Emma retorted, rolling her eyes at Killian’s mischievous grin. “Don’t start,” she warned, pointing her chopstick at him before wiping the cocoa from it with a paper napkin. “This brain belonged to a wrestling coach and I’m not afraid to pound you… OK I walked into that one,” she cringed.

“I’d say wrestling brain would be a vast improvement on the one you ate a few weeks back,” he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. “What was the ridiculous sport called again that the victim participated in? Yoxing?”

Emma laughed at the scandalized look on his face, gathering some noodles with her chopsticks. “Boga,” she said, eagerly shoving the food into her mouth. “Who knew there was such a demand for a boxing/yoga fusion in downtown Storybrooke?” Emma sought out a particularly plump piece of brain from her bowl. “Did I ever tell you that Leroy offered us lifetime memberships to his class for solving his client’s murder?” She grinned when Killian started to choke on his onion ring.

“I beg of you, Swan,” he coughed, grabbing his coffee to take a big gulp. “I only just rid myself of the visual of Leroy in yoga pants. Don’t make me relive the nightmare.”

“Maybe I just wanna see _your_ nice ass in yoga pants, Doctor Hot Stuff,” she said with a salacious wink, the grin slipping from her face as Killian gaped at her in a half-bemused half-embarrassed fashion. “Oh god,” Emma moaned, dropping her head to her chest. “I think this wrestling brain was also trained in the art of terrible flirting,” she said, frowning at her lunch. “I apologize in advance for the flood of tacky comments headed your way.”

Killian gave her foot a gentle nudge under the table with his own, smiling when she lifted her head to look at him. “It’s OK, love, I know it can’t be helped,” he reassured her. “Besides, it’ll be a nice stroke to the old ego.” He paused when Emma’s foot began rubbing against his calf muscle.

“I’ll tell you what I’d like to stroke,” Emma said in a low voice, twirling the end of her ponytail around her finger before quickly snapping out of her seduction routine. “ _Dammit_ ,” she cursed, hastily standing up and gathering her lunch before she wore a permanent blush on her face. “I think it’ll be safer for the both of us if I just eat in the office.”

Killian offered her a flustered smile. “Right, of course,” he said, scratching behind his ear. “Just, ah, one query before you go.”

Emma chewed on her bottom lip, hovering near the table. “Yeah?”

The mischievous glint returned to his eyes. “If you wanted to see _my_ nice arse in yoga pants too, does that mean you found Leroy’s behind just as delectable?” 

Emma broke into a snort of laughter, grateful for the return to their usual banter. “What happened to you being scarred for life by Leroy visuals?” 

“It’s a cross I’m willing to bear to cheer you up, milady,” smirked Killian, offering her a small bow from his seat.

“Well in _that_ case I gotta tell you that Leroy has an ass that just won’t quit.”

“… Bloody hell. I renege my goodwill. Please bring back the flirting.”

“Maybe I should go and flirt with Leroy and his ‘delectable behind’ instead?”

“You know what? I’m just going to go and lock myself in the refrigeration unit. Let me out when you’re done.”

* * *

Killian glanced at the rat cage on his desk before typing down notes on his computer. He was monitoring the progress of Hook, one of the rodents they’d tested tainted utopium on; the substance they’d discovered was the root of all zombie evil. And what half the people were high on at the boat party Emma had attended down at the wharf the night she’d been turned. Killian glanced up when Emma stomped into his office and promptly flopped face-first onto the couch. He grinned when he heard her muttering something unintelligible into the brown leather. “I take it the door-to-door interviews with Detective Nolan didn’t yield any results for our dearly departed victim?” he asked.

Emma turned her head to the side to peer at him through a curtain of white-blonde hair. “Dearly departed? _Please_ ,” she scoffed. “It’s no wonder this stand-up comedian – _and I use the term comedian loosely, trust me_ – got multiple stab wounds. Dude’s an asshole!” She blew a strand of hair out of her face and rolled onto her back. “I spent the whole afternoon insulting everyone we met, not to mention David.” She draped an arm over her eyes and groaned. “He’ll never let me work a case with him again.”

“Ooh, what did you say to him, Swan?” asked Killian gleefully, scooting himself around the desk on his rolling chair to perch in front of the couch. “Was it about his proclivity for standing in a hero pose at every crime scene?” Killian smirked with a fond shake of his head. “The man enjoys a hands-on-hips stance far too much.”

“I think I mentioned that at some stage, yeah,” Emma said, sliding her arm back to her forehead to give Killian a sheepish wince. “But the real whammy was ripping him a new one about his plaid shirts.”

Killian’s jaw dropped in delight. “You _didn’t_.” 

“I did,” Emma mumbled. “I think the words, ‘one wick away from becoming a Mountain Lodge Yankee Candle’ were uttered.” She shook her head at Killian’s chuckling. “And then I might have asked if he prefers woodchips tucked into his underwear instead of cash when he performs his lumber-cop strip-o-grams.” The corners of Emma’s mouth tipped up as Killian legitimately began cackling. “Stop it,” she said, throwing her arm out to swat his body. “I feel bad enough as it is.”

Wiping at the tears in his eyes, Killian’s shoulders shook with suppressed mirth as he attempted to calm himself down. “Dave’s a big boy, I’m sure he can hack a few jokes at his expense,” he said with a wink.

“Speaking of jokes, did you just try and wink at me or are your eyelids doing a body roll?” Emma clapped her hands over her mouth, trying not to laugh at how outlandishly insulted Killian looked. “Sorry! I thought the brains might’ve worn off by now… but oh my god you can’t wink for shit! How am I just noticing this?”

Killian folded his arms across his chest, jutting his chin in the air defiantly. “I’ll have you know it gives me an air of charm.”

Lifting herself upright, Emma sat cross-legged on the couch to face him. “Oh yeah, the charm of one of those creepy blinking dolls straight out of a horror movie,” she nodded.

“I don’t like this brain anymore, Swan,” Killian pouted, doing a sad Charlie Brown chair shuffle back to his desk. 

“Me either,” Emma replied, noting his raised eyebrow. “OK, fine, maybe just a little.”

They heard footsteps signalling an approach in the morgue and glanced at the doorway to the office just as David appeared. Emma tried to ignore the snort she heard coming from Killian when they both realized David had changed into a plain dark blue shirt.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said David warily, noting the way neither of them would quite meet his eye. “We got a new lead and I need you to come along in case you have one of your visions,” he directed at Emma.

Whipping her head up from where she was intently studying her nails, Emma gazed at him in surprise. “You still want me to help?”

David offered her an easy shrug, as if she hadn’t spent half the day calling him Detective Chisel-Chin. “You’re an asset to the team,” he said. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I don’t always understand your techniques – like the way you sometimes channel the victim’s personality. Or when you have a certain skillset one week and the next week it’s gone,” he added in a curiosity-laced aside.

“She’s quite the method psychic, aren’t you, Swan,” Killian blurted out.

“That’s right. But not in a creepy Jared Leto way,” Emma added in a rush. “Or in a regular Jared Leto way either.”

“No dead rats in the desk drawer for you, mate.” Killian’s reassuring grin faltered when David’s gaze rested upon Hook, merrily gnawing at the bars of his cage. “This is, uh, science stuff,” he coughed.

Emma threw David a winning smile. “Promise.”

“… Right,” said David, glancing between the two of them before clearing his throat. “OK, so I’ll meet you upstairs in five?” 

“Sure thing!” Emma said, giving him an exuberant thumbs-up. She waited for him to leave the room before she turned to Killian, her thumb still held aloft in the air. “What is this? Why am I suddenly The Fonz?” she said, gesturing at her extended digit with her other hand.

Killian chuckled, lifting up Hook’s cage to return him to the rest of the crew in the lab. “Shall we just chalk it up to another side effect of the current brain you’re on?”

“Awesome. I hope this carnival fun ride never ends,” Emma said wryly, standing up to follow him out of the office. She watched Killian gently place the cage alongside the four other test subjects (Pan, Wendy, Smee and Tinker Bell – Killian thought the names were apt considering Emma had been infected on a boat called The Jolly Roger. Emma thought it was apt Killian was a giant nerd). “I suppose today wasn’t all bad,” Emma mused as an afterthought.

“You got to share in my company, of course it wasn’t all bad,” Killian teased, placing cloth covers over the cages.

Emma rolled her eyes. “No, I just meant it was nice… David saying I was an asset to the team or whatever,” she shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel like a useful part of society again after the whole ‘Night of the Living Dead’ debacle.”

“You’re brilliant, Swan,” Killian said earnestly. “Of course David enjoys having you as a colleague.” He stepped closer and gave her arm a squeeze, offering her a smile. “As do I.”

Shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, Emma smiled, the lightest dusting of pink coloring her cheeks. “Thanks. You’re not half bad yourself I guess.”

“Just what every person wants to hear,” Killian said with a wink. He scrunched up his nose when he saw her stifle a giggle, pointing towards his eyes. “Another failed attempt I take it.”

“It’s like your eyelids just give up half way and take a nap.”

“Bollocks.”

* * *

Emma had been enjoying a few drinks at the local bar, The Rabbit Hole, with Killian and David (and getting to know David’s girlfriend, Mary Margaret), when she suddenly let out a string of curses and slid halfway down her seat in the booth.

Pausing with his beer mid-way to his mouth, Killian exchanged a bemused look with the other two occupants of the table before focusing on Emma. “Is this a solitary segue way into madness, Swan, or can we all join in?” he asked, taking a swig of his drink and setting the bottle back onto a coaster.

“Shh, don’t look at me just keep talking to each other,” she hissed, her eyes wildly focused on something near the bar. “Oh god, I can’t deal with this shit right now,” she muttered under her breath.

“Are you OK, Emma?” Mary Margaret asked in concern.

David patted his girlfriend’s arm. “It’s alright, sweetheart, this is normal.” Emma shot him an offended look, which he countered with a shrug and a sip of his beer. “Hey, you were the one putting on a Broadway revival of Cats in the squad car yesterday while we were investigating the understudy’s homicide.” 

Killian made to twist his body around so he could face the bar. “What on earth are you hiding from, Swan?”

“No, don’t look!” Emma yelped, grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Well that’s just going to have the opposite effect now isn’t it,” said Killian, slipping out of her grasp to spin around. “Now I have to look at… Bloody hell,” he murmured, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me, love,” he said, turning back to his friend. “Is the October cover of GQ walking straight towards you or are we all collectively hallucinating?”

Letting out a deep sigh, Emma slid back into a normal sitting position just as a tall, brown-haired man with a beard and striking features approached their booth. “Hey, Graham,” she smiled weakly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Graham returned her smile tenfold. “I thought I spied you back there,” he replied in an Irish lilt. “It’s good to see you, Em.” He cast his eyes around the other people at the table in a friendly fashion. “And to meet your friends. Hello, I’m Graham, Emma’s old workmate from the hospital,” he said, holding out a hand to Mary Margaret.

“ _Hello_ Fifty Shades,” Mary Margaret exhaled in wonder, immediately shaking her head as her cheeks stained with pink. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. You just look so much like that actor it’s uncanny.” 

“Yes, uh, I seem to be getting that a lot,” Graham said, ducking his head. “Quite flattering but a tad embarrassing if I’m honest.”

“Oh no, you should definitely embrace it! I’m Mary Margaret by the way,” she smiled, taking his hand in hers.

“And I’m David Zero Shades,” David said with a teasing smirk in his girlfriend’s direction before also shaking Graham’s hand. “I work with Emma at her new job.”

“As do I, mate,” said Killian, slapping his hand into Graham’s and clamping down on it for a firm shake. “Killian Jones. _Doctor_ Jones, actually,” he said, giving him a too-bright smile. “Medical examiner.”

Graham let go of his hand and gave him a grin. “Doctor Jones, like the Aqua song.”

Killian pursed his lips, ignoring the chuckling coming from his friends. “… Aye, I get that a lot,” he quickly mumbled in an echo of Graham’s response, downing another gulp of beer.

“So, Emma, how have you been?” asked Graham, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “You’re looking…” He took in her pasty complexion, red-rimmed eyes and orange-stained lips from all of the Hellfire Cheezy Puffs she’d been inhaling. “Have you done something different with your hair?” he finished politely.

“Yeah, something like that,” Emma said, hastily rubbing at her mouth with a napkin. “How’s uh, how’s things at work? Everything still coming up Milhouse in cardiology?”

“Yep, things are going well. Bit quiet around the place now that you’re gone, though. We miss you,” he said with a shy smile. “You’re lucky to have such a great person working with you,” he added to Killian and David.

“We know. She’s quite brilliant this one,” said Killian, smirking at Emma. “Addiction to revolting neon-orange snacks notwithstanding.”

“You wound me,” mocked Emma, holding a hand to her chest. She traded grins with Killian before glancing back up at Graham. “I find it hard to believe Storybrooke General’s gone quiet when Ruby’s still working there,” she said with an arch of her eyebrow.

Graham chuckled. “Usually you’d be correct but the lovely Ruby has had a couple of distractions lately to keep her occupied. There’s a new anaesthesiologist who transferred from Kansas, and our new hospital administrator – Ahh, speak of the devil,” he said, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the restrooms where a figure was heading towards them through the crowd.

Killian turned to Emma when he heard her sharp intake of breath just before her leg tensed against his in the booth. Concerned by her reaction, Killian followed her alarmed gaze, which was focused on a man with peroxide-blonde hair standing beside Graham.

“Everyone, this is Victor Whale, the administrator at Storybrooke Gen,” he said, clapping a hand on Victor’s shoulder. “And Vic, these charming folk are friends of Emma Swan my former co-worker.”

Tearing his eyes and leery smile away from an uncomfortable-looking Mary Margaret, Victor twisted his head in the direction Graham was pointing. “Ahh, the infamous Emma Swan, I’ve heard so much about…” He paused, gaping at her in astonishment. “ _You_.”

Emma was gripping her beer bottle so tight she was afraid she was going to break it. Swallowing down a rush of bile, she forced a smile onto her face. “All good things I hope,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Definitely intriguing,” Victor murmured, cocking his head to the side as his gaze roamed over her pale skin and shadowed eyes.

“How long have you been working at the hospital, _mate_?” Killian asked in a clipped tone, unconsciously shifting his body to act as a barrier between the newcomer’s creepy vibes and Emma.

Victor shook himself from his reverie and painted on a dazzling smile. “Just on three months now isn’t it, Humbert?”

“That’s right,” Graham nodded. “Not long after you left, Em.”

“Fantastic,” Emma deadpanned, before draining the rest of her beer. “Would you look at that, I’m all out.” She nudged Killian’s arm so he’d stand up and let her out of the booth. “Next round’s on me, I’ll be back in a sec,” she said, ignoring David’s protest that it was his turn. Emma left a confused group in her wake, elbowing her way through the sea of people and bypassing the bar for the secluded alcove near the supply room. She buried her face in her hands and leaned her back against the wall.

“Are you OK, love?”

Emma took a deep breath, lifting her head to see Killian standing in front of her, his forehead furrowed and eyes brimming with concern. “Not really, no,” she said, dropping her arms to her sides.

“I’m assuming it had something to do with Moby Dick back there?” said Killian.

“Dick is right,” muttered Emma, scuffing her leather boot against the worn wood of the floor. “I’d managed to repress a lot of things from the night of the boat party, but when I saw his face I just had this awful flash of recognition.” Emma traced the skin of her left forearm with her fingertips where a deep gash had once been. “Whale was the one who infected me.”

“ _Swan_ ,” Killian said on an exhale, shifting so that he was leaning next to her against the wall. They remained silent for a beat, staring at the ripped band poster on the wall advertising Jefferson and the Mad Hatters. “At least that explains his Draco Malfoy hair,” said Killian, his mouth quirking into a brief smile when he heard Emma huff out a laugh.

Emma rested her head on Killian’s shoulder, feeling his warm hand slip into her cooler one, threading their fingers together. “I can’t believe I’ve found someone else on Team Z and it turns out to be that asshole.”

“He’s not the most pleasant of fellows is he.” Killian felt Emma’s head suddenly jerk up. “What’s the matter?” he asked, facing her.

“What if he’s hurting people?” Emma said, her eyes wide with fear. “I mean he turned me, what’s not to say he’s got more victims lined up. Oh god, what about Graham and Ruby?” she said, her voice tight.

Killian squeezed Emma’s hand, running his thumb over her skin in soothing circles. “Not that I want to give the smarmy git the benefit of the doubt, but I’d dare say if he had any nefarious plans in mind he would have conducted them by now.”

“Captain British is right. Although I take offence at the smarmy git connotations.”

They both jumped at the sound of Victor’s voice as he appeared before them, holding up his hands in placation at the indignation etched on both their faces. “I come in peace,” he said. “I just want to talk.”

“And I just want to punch you in the face,” Emma spat out. “Let’s see who gets their wish first.”

“OK, first of all, I never meant to scratch you at that boat party,” Victor said, lowering his hands to put them in his pockets. “I got an anonymous tip off there may have been more of my kind there, and I was intrigued. But when that tainted utopium got passed around and all zombie hell broke loose I panicked and lashed out. You just got caught in the crossfire,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “My bad, sister.”

Emma let go of Killian’s hand, lurching forward to grab Victor by his shirt collar. “Please tell me you did not just use ‘my bad’ as an apology for _turning me into a freaking zombie_ ,” she growled, yanking his face to hers.

“Uh… My bad about the my bad?” Victor offered with an awkward smile, nearly tripping over his feet when Emma shoved him back into a wall with a groan of disgust.

“You are the _worst_ ,” Emma hissed out, pacing back and forth. “I can’t believe my life got completely torn apart because you’re a dumbass. God I could kill you,” she seethed, her eyes flashing with a spark of blood-red.

Killian tentatively reached out to still Emma’s movements, gently grasping her upper arms. “He’s not worth it, love,” he said reassuringly, throwing Victor a dirty look. “Although the urge to be your murder accomplice is quite tempting.”

“Woah, ease up there, Prince Charles,” Victor retorted, crossing his arms. “Look, I’m genuinely sorry for what happened, but I can’t change the ending of the play. All I can tell you is that I’d never intentionally hurt someone.”

“Oh yeah? Then how are you getting brains?” Emma scoffed.

“Benefit of working at a hospital when patients bite the big one,” Victor answered easily, placing a hand over his heart. “God rest their souls, yada yada.” 

Killian rolled his eyes. “Your bedside manner is truly inspiring.”

“Hey, let me ask you, Big Z to Big Z,” Victor said, ignoring Killian and facing Emma. “Do you get the pins and needles sensation when the visions hit or is that just my own personal schtick? And what’s the weirdest brain you’ve been on because…”

“I’m not doing this with you,” Emma said incredulously, cutting him off. She shook her head. “This isn’t some zombie slumber party where we trade secrets, you jerk. You are the _last_ person I want to speak to right now.”

Victor clamped his mouth shut, giving her a swift nod. “Right, yeah, I get it.”

Emma rubbed the side of her temple, briefly closing her eyes. “I need to get out of here,” she sighed, glancing at Killian. “Could you let the others know I went home?”

“Of course, I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well,” said Killian with a comforting smile. “Wait here and I’ll catch a cab with you.” His smile morphed into a scowl as he spun around to Victor and hauled him away by the arm. “You’re coming with me.”

Emma wrapped her arms around herself and sank back against the wall as Killian disappeared into the crowd with Victor. It seemed whenever she thought she was finally getting a handle on the zombie life; something inevitably came along and fucked up her progress.

* * *

With the full moon beaming overhead, Killian crept towards a warehouse down by the wharf with Emma. “Do you think we should be doing this without Dave?” he murmured, darting his eyes around for any sign of trouble. “He is the one with the gun after all.”

Emma approached the unlocked warehouse door and braced herself against the building. “A gun’s not going to be much use if a zombie’s going to leap out and go all Walking Dead on us,” she said, waiting for Killian to join her. “Plus there’s that whole pesky ‘he doesn’t know the undead are real’ thing working against us.”

“Well in that case I’m so glad we’re well armed,” he said wryly, holding up the flashlight he was carrying.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Emma smirked, playfully waving her light in his face before gripping the door handle to slide it across. She shook her head fondly when she noticed Killian clutching his flashlight vertically like a lightsaber. “Ready, Obi-Wan?”

“I don’t wish to alarm you, Swan, but if I’m your only hope then you’re doomed,” he answered with a fleeting grin before falling into place behind her.

Emma wrenched the door back on its railings and shone the light inside the vast space, seeing nothing but piles of crates and forgotten ropes and boat parts. She glanced back at Killian before taking a tentative step over the threshold. 

Ever since he’d become her creature of the night confidante, Killian had set up alerts on his computer for any mention of zombies in the local area. They’d picked up chatter that morning in a Halloween-themed forum about someone claiming to have seen a zombie trapped in an abandoned warehouse by the docks. It would have been easy for them to dismiss it as a ghoulish prank, but after her run-in with Victor a few days ago Emma wasn’t willing to bet she was still the only one of her kind living in Storybrooke.

“Tell me again why we thought it would be a good idea to do a night time stakeout?” Killian whispered, edging his way around a large, dusty crate.

“Because we didn’t want to risk getting caught in the day time,” Emma whispered in return, hesitantly shining her flashlight into a dark corner. “Also we’re idiots obviously.”

Killian hummed in agreement, slamming into Emma’s back with a muffled yelp when something brushed against his cheek, startling him. “Sorry, love,” he his breath puffed out across her neck, dropping his hand from her hip where he’d steadied himself. “I believe I was attacked by a killer cobweb.”

“You’re the first character to get murdered in a slasher movie aren’t you?” Emma teased quietly, glancing over her shoulder to where Killian was still standing quite close by.

He chuckled, scratching behind his ear. “I blame the proprietor of this warehouse, actually. Who in their right mind keeps a place like this in such disrepair?”

“That’s where the whole abandoned thing comes in,” Emma smiled, carefully brushing away a strand of web that had clung to the side of his beard. “I should have guessed you were a neat-freak. You keep the morgue at Monica Geller levels of clean.”

“True, she is my idol,” Killian smirked. “There’s also the fact that I used to work on boat tours to pay my way through school. Everything was spotless under my watch.”

“Arr, did you sail the seven seas then, Cap’n?” Emma growled at him in a poor imitation of a pirate’s voice, holding up a crooked finger in the shape of a hook. “Gallivanting around buckling some swash and shivering timbers?”

Killian encased Emma’s hand with his, shaking his head with a soft laugh. “How unfortunate we can’t even blame this on any brains, _matey_.”

“My voice acting career will never know its full potential,” Emma said with a put-upon sigh, reluctantly letting her hand fall from the warmth of Killian’s as they resumed their search. “Graham always used to give me crap for my terrible Irish accent too,” she said, making her way down the back of the warehouse.

“Good old Doctor Graham, eh?” Killian replied in a breezy tone, stepping in beside her to add more light to the search. “So you and him, were you ever…” he gestured vaguely in a circle in front of him. “You know…”

“… Held hostage by a lazy mime artist? Nope, can’t say we were,” Emma grinned; knowing Killian was rolling his eyes without even looking at him. Her smile waned as she thought back to her time at Storybrooke General and the friendships she’d formed and had to leave behind. “No, Graham and I were never a thing,” she answered quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I didn’t mean to pry, Swan, I’m sorry. That was bad form,” said Killian, noting the change in her demeanour. “He just seemed quite enamoured by you the other night at the bar is all.”

“Graham did ask me out once when we first started our residency,” Emma admitted, gently steering Killian away from another large cobweb. “But I said I just wanted to be friends.”

“It’s because he looks like a troll’s arse isn’t it,” Killian said solemnly, smirking when Emma whacked his arm. 

“No, it’s just…” Emma fiddled with the switch on her flashlight. “I don’t really do the whole relationship thing,” she shrugged, keeping her eyes trained on the pocket of Killian’s leather jacket. “There was just a whole bunch of shit that went down in my past and it’s easier being alone.” A grim streak of a smile fell on her lips. “Not that I’m much of a catch these days anyway, unless you’re wanting to catch the Big Z.” Emma finally glanced up at Killian, surprised to see understanding etched on his face and not pity.

“I know where you’re coming from, love,” said Killian with a soft smile. “I too have ghosts of the past who still have quite the impact on my life. Sometimes I yearn to break free of their hold on me, but at the same time I’ve grown accustomed to their presence.”

Emma couldn’t help a small chuckle from escaping, earning a bemused smile from her friend. “You basically just turned ‘the struggle is real’ into this beautiful goddamn piece of poetry,” she said, tugging affectionately on the collar of his jacket. “You’re a Jane Austen novel in human form and I kinda dig it.”

Killian gazed at her with a modest grin. “And you, Swan, need to think more highly of yourself because you’re worth more than any poetry could measure,” he said, curling his fingers around hers where they were still grasping his coat.

“Smooth motherfucker aren’t you?” said Emma, her voice coming out more breathy than she realized.

“Aye,” Killian nodded, licking his bottom lip as they contemplated one another. “I have my moments.”

They stumbled apart when they heard a low growling sound coming from four or five feet away. Emma quickly shone her flashlight in the direction of the noise as Killian did the same, but there was only a ground cellar in front of them with an open hatch. With nimble steps, Emma avoided the wooden planks that had begun to rot near the opening so she could creep over and peer in. “ _Holy shit_ ,” she murmured as she shone light into the cellar to find the unmistakeable gnarled, shrivelled face of a zombie staring back at her.

Killian perched on the other side of the cellar observing the zombie, who was wearing a dirt-caked sundress and trying to swing her arms at them with increasingly loud, frustrated growls. Thankfully, Killian noted, he and Emma were out of harm’s way where they stood. “How long do you think she’s been down there?”

“Since the boat party,” said Emma, pointing to a strip of blue tape around the zombie’s wrist when Killian threw her a surprised expression. “We all got those wristbands when we were let in.” Emma knelt down to get a better look. “The poor woman must have ran away to find a hiding place and fell in here not realizing she’d been infected,” she said, a surge of sympathy welling in her chest.

“So she’s been down here without any proper nourishment for almost four months now,” Killian said, shaking his head. “Is there any coming back from that or is she too far gone into the process?”

Emma stared at the snarling woman; mesmerized by the jewelled hair accessory she still had tucked perfectly on the side of her matted and bloodied braid. _She would have spent a while on her hair that night_ , Emma thought, _wanting to look nice for the party not knowing it would be her last_.

“I think it’s too late for her,” said Emma, swallowing roughly as she glanced over at Killian. “Even after a couple of days without eating brains I start to feel slower, dumber, more mean. I think she ceased to become whatever was left of herself a long time ago. Now she’s just… this.”

Killian watched as Emma wrapped her arms tightly around herself, her whole body curling inward as he realized she was imagining herself down there in the woman’s shoes. “Swan it’s OK,” Killian said soothingly, stepping around the boards to walk over to her. “You mustn’t…”

But the comment died on his lips as the wooden planks under his feet gave way and he tumbled into the cellar with the ravenous zombie, who instantly lurched forward to attack her prey.


	2. Chapter 2

Killian only had seconds to process the fact he was staring into the face of his grisly demise when Emma leapt down and roughly shoved him aside, tackling the zombie with all her might. Killian scrambled backwards on the ground, his right palm scraping against a piece of broken floorboard, not stopping until his body slammed into a wall. 

He looked on in horror as the zombie struck out at Emma, mangled fingers wrapping around her throat to choke her. But before Killian could even make it to his feet to help, Emma had picked up a piece of wood from the ground and smashed it against the zombie’s head with a feral growl. With a few more fierce cracks, the zombie fell to the dirty floor, unmoving and silent, the only sound in the enclosed space coming from Emma’s unsteady breathing.

“… Swan?”

Emma whipped around, her eyes bloodshot and wild, her jaw slackened and flecks of red spattered across the pale skin on her face. 

Killian held up his hands to placate her. “Swan, it’s me, it’s OK,” he said softly, eyeing the makeshift weapon she was still gripping on to, her senses on high alert. “It’s Killian, love. It’s alright… We’re alright.”

“Killian?” she rasped, regulating her breathing until her body stopped trembling and her eyes transformed back to their normal color. Emma looked down at the bloodstained wooden paling in her hand, immediately dropping it like it had burnt her. “ _Oh god_.”

“You had no choice, Swan,” Killian implored, limping over on his jarred ankle to stand in front of her. “If you hadn’t have intervened...” He took Emma’s hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze so she’d look at him. “You saved my life,” Killian said in a soft, reassuring tone.

Emma gazed at him, opening her mouth to speak but froze when she felt something wet against her palm. She turned Killian’s hand over in her own, her heart clenching when she saw a deep cut across his skin. “ _Fuck_ ,” she said, her voice catching in her throat as she shook her head frantically. “No, no, no.”

Confused and alarmed, Killian looked down at his hand and let out a small sigh of relief when he saw the injury. “Swan, it’s OK, I haven’t been infected. I cut myself on some fallen debris,” he said, nodding towards the pile of jagged wooden pieces behind him.

“Oh thank _god_.” The tension eased from her shoulders a fraction as she caressed the skin near his wound. “So just the threat of tetanus then?” Emma said quietly, offering him a faint smile when he huffed out a laugh through his nose.

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t nick the skin on a nail but I’ll get a shot just to make sure.” He fumbled in the pocket of his jeans with his free hand, pulling out a white handkerchief. 

Emma gently swatted him away when he went to dab at the blood on her face. “I think you need that more than me right now,” she chided. Emma let go of his hand so he could wrap the material around his graze. “Why are you even carrying around a handkerchief anyway? What are you, like, three hundred?”

Killian heard the slight waver in her voice as she tried to keep things lighthearted. “Aye, three hundred and one years young next week in fact,” he replied. He tied a small knot in the handkerchief to hold it in place and took Emma’s hand again in his, lacing their fingers together. “It was self-defense, Swan,” he reiterated, knowing her mind was still racing.

“I know,” she said quietly, chewing on her bottom lip as he traced patterns into her skin with his thumb. “I’m just… I’m glad I didn’t hurt you.”

“You’d never hurt me,” Killian said matter-of-factly.

Emma frowned at him. “You can’t be certain of that. Especially when I’m in full-on zombie mode. I’m _dangerous_ , Killian.”

“Do you trust me, Swan?”

“Of course I do.”

He gave her hand a gentle tug and smiled at her. “Then surely you can see I have the same unwavering trust in you.”

Shaking her head fondly, Emma focused on the warmth in Killian’s gaze. “You were wrong before you know, Obi-Wan,” she said. “You’re better at this hope thing than you think.”

* * *

Emma had been on ill-advised benders before: mixing her alcohol, inhaling her own weight in peanut M&Ms, listening to an entire Nickelback album on a dare. But this one, this ‘eating a combo of different brains all at once to try and drown out her own thoughts with other people’s thoughts’ bender was new. There were so many personalities vying for attention, so many visions to sort through and make sense of, she felt _exhausted_. Not to mention queasy. 

Emma walked downstairs towards the morgue, rifling through the bag filled with Pepto-Bismol supplies she’d picked up at the drug store on her way to work. The cashier guy gave her a weird look when she’d plonked down one of every flavour and variation but Emma wasn’t about to ask which type went best with OD-ing on human brains.

Halfway through shrugging out of her red leather jacket, Emma paused in the entryway when she saw Killian joking around with a petite blonde woman near the computer desk. Emma hadn’t seen the pretty, smartly-dressed visitor before but the familiarity of her body language with Killian didn’t go unnoticed.

“Hi there!” Emma said a little too loudly, covering up her grimace with a smile as she finished taking off her jacket.

“Swan?” Killian said in surprise, eyebrows furrowing as she made her way to the other side of the desk. “I thought you were going to take a few personal days?”

Emma shook her head. “Nope, didn’t need them,” she replied as brightly as she could, setting her paper bag down on the table and taking out a large pink bottle. “I’m fine.”

Killian’s frown deepened as he watched her chug a quarter of the liquid. “Clearly.” Registering a polite cough next to him, Killian gave an apologetic smile to his guest. “Excuse my poor manners,” he said, gesturing towards Emma. “This is my work colleague, Emma Swan. And Swan, this is Detective Christine Bell from Boston PD.”

“My friends call me Tink,” the newcomer said with a grin, holding out her hand to Emma. “It’s a ridiculous name, I know, but if you can’t beat ‘em or throw them in a holding cell for being jackasses, join ‘em right?”

“Right,” Emma stammered, shaking the detective’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Tink. We have a lab rat called Tinker Bell… Not that I’m comparing you to a rat. Or any rodent. I mean if anything you’d be a bunny or a little fluffy kitten if you were an animal… which you’re not.” Emma hastily dropped Tink’s hand, which she’d been shaking all through her outburst, her face flushing red. “Wow, so this Pepto clearly doesn’t stop _verbal_ diarrhea now does it? Not that I have… oh my god, shut up, Emma.”

Tink regarded her in bemusement before turning back to Killian. “You named a rat after me, huh?” she said with a smirk, poking his chest playfully.

“Don’t listen to Emma, she’s not quite feeling like herself today,” Killian replied with a nervous chuckle, scratching behind his ear. 

“Understatement of the century,” Emma muttered, dragging out a stool from under the desk to sit on. She slipped on her white coat that was draped across the back of the chair, and with it also slipped into a new personality. “Enough about me though,” Emma said in an encouraging tone, clasping her hands under her chin to study Killian and Tink. “Let’s explore why you named a rat after your ex-girlfriend.”

“What? I didn’t… There was a Peter Pan theme, it wasn’t personal!” Killian spluttered, the tips of his ears turning pink. “And how did you know Tink and I had dated, I’ve never told you that.”

Emma jotted notes down on a pad of paper. “Elementary my dear, Watson. That and your non-verbal cues are off the charts.” She pointed her pen at Killian. “I’m not the number one behavioral psychologist in this state for nothing you know.”

“Really?” said Tink with interest. “Wow, it would’ve been great to pick your brains for cases when I was working at this precinct.”

“ _Brain picking_ ,” Emma said with a sudden giggle, all serious pretenses forgotten. “You don’t know how right you are, Tink. Oh my god, that totally rhymes with _Pink_ ,” she said, clutching onto Tink’s arm. “I love her songs,” she added earnestly.

_Is she OK_? Tink mouthed at Killian, who offered her a tight smile in return.

“Just a tad fatigued,” Killian said quietly to the detective. “It’s been a trying week.”

“Say no more,” Tink replied sympathetically. “I’ll give you guys some space. It was nice to see you again, Killian,” she smiled, picking up her purse from the table and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’ll let you know if I have time for a drink before Detective Babineaux and I head back to Boston.” Tink turned around to Emma, who had transferred her attention into juggling the stationery from the desk. “Great to meet you, Emma.”

“You too!” Emma said cheerfully, switching-up her juggling to one hand before catching it all and offering her audience a bow.

“I’ll, uh, just see you out,” Killian said to Tink, throwing a concerned glance Emma’s way as they walked towards the stairs. When Killian returned five minutes later he found Emma lying on the couch in his office with her knees curled up to her chest.

“Hey,” Emma said quietly, continuing to stare at the wall when Killian took a cushion off the couch and sat on the floor in front of her. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, love,” said Killian, crossing his legs as comfortably as he could.

Emma huffed out a laugh. “Not really. If you see Tink again just tell her I’m really into improv.” She gave him a droll smile. “That sounds legitimate, right?”

“Oh yes, completely,” Killian replied. He reached forward to brush a strand of hair from her face. “What really happened, Swan?”

She swallowed, averting her gaze from the dartboard Killian sometimes used on his breaks to look him in the eye. “A person who likes to babble, a behavioral psychologist and a circus entertainer all walked into a bar…”

“And you ate their brains all at the same time?”

“Well, I drank them in a smoothie but yeah. Also I keep having the urge to go to karaoke and sing pop music all day, so brain number four’s a hoot too.” 

Killian exhaled slowly, taking in Emma’s even paler than usual complexion and the drawn lines near her mouth where he was used to seeing a dimpled smile. He brushed back her hair again, letting his fingers rest near her forehead where he gently massaged her temple.

Emma closed her eyes, momentarily relishing in the reprieve Killian was bringing to the ache in her head. “You’re not gonna ask why all the brains?” she murmured, opening her eyes.

“I think I can guess,” he said understandingly. “I’m here if you need someone to talk to, Swan.”

“I know,” she nodded with a brief smile before her face crumpled and her eyes began to water. “Dammit,” her voice wavered. She brought her hand up to wipe furiously at her eyes. “I wasn’t gonna do this. I just… _fuck_.” A sob wracked through Emma’s body as she felt Killian gently coax her from the furniture to sit on the floor, maneuvering them so their backs were against the couch and he was wrapping her in a comforting hug.

Killian held her close, stroking his hand through her hair. “I know it may sound harsh or callous, but you did what you did out of necessity,” he reassured her. “If I were in your shoes I would have done the exact same thing to protect you.”

Emma gave herself a few minutes to let the tears flow before lifting her head to look at him. “The zombie… the _woman_ , she didn’t even get a chance to live after she was infected,” Emma said on a shaky exhale. “And I feel horrible for even thinking it but it just makes me scared that I could end up like her one day.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Killian said defiantly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “I swear to you I won’t rest until I find you the cure.”

“But if for some reason you don’t though, and what’s left of my humanity goes out the window,” Emma said, gripping onto the collar of his lab coat. “You’ll do what needs to be done, right?”

“Swan…”

“ _Please_ , Killian.”

Killian offered her a brief, unconvincing nod. “As you wish,” he said quietly.

* * *

“Captain America, perhaps?”

“Nice try but he’s clearly Superman.”

Emma and Killian stood at the edge of a crime scene, situated near a river running through the middle of the Storybrooke woods, watching David oversee proceedings with his hands on his hips and his hair lightly ruffling in the breeze.

“You’re right, Swan,” Killian nodded. “A cape would complement the hero pose quite nicely. As long as it’s in a checked pattern of course.”

“Naturally. Hey, and what about this for a catchphrase,” said Emma with a grin, deepening her voice to mimic David. “Congrats, bad guys, you just _plaid_ yourselves’.”

“Hey! Statler and Waldorf, I can hear you,” David called out to them with a frown on his face as they tried to hide their laughter. “How about less messing around and more getting your work done?”

Emma turned away from Killian so she wouldn’t burst out laughing again and hurried over to the sheet-covered body where David was standing. “Sorry, we’re ready to get started,” she said, setting her equipment bag on the ground next to Killian’s.

“Who found the victim?” Killian asked, slipping on disposable gloves.

“A couple walking their dog,” David replied, nodding towards the distraught pair who were speaking with his colleague far away from the scene. “We think the body might have been dumped over the bridge upstream and washed up here. And that’s not the only messed-up thing.”

Emma and Killian shared a wide-eyed look of horror when David drew back the sheet to reveal half the victim’s skull had been smashed open. “There was no brain inside,” said David, shaking his head incredulously. “I mean, who does that? Am I supposed to put out an APB on a mad scientist?”

“Maybe it was the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz,” Emma feebly joked, hoping David wouldn’t pick up on how rattled she was.

“It most certainly is peculiar,” Killian answered with a weak chuckle just as David’s partner radioed him over to speak with the witnesses. He waited until the detective was out of earshot before exhaling in disbelief. “Bloody hell, this isn’t good.”

“No shit,” Emma muttered, kneeling down on the other side of the body to take a closer look at the empty cranial cavity. “As much as I’d love to peg this on the usual garden variety murderer, we’ve gotta be dealing with a zombie, right?”

“It’s definitely looking that way. Although one can only hope that it’s an isolated incident,” Killian said ruefully.

Emma nodded at him with a grimace. “The last thing this town needs is a supernatural serial killer.”

* * *

Back at the precinct a fingerprint database search revealed the victim to be Dr. Archibald Hopper, a scientist whose last known place of work was at Wicked Z.

“Isn’t that the company that makes those energy drinks?” said Emma, peering over David’s shoulder at the report on his computer.

David hummed in acknowledgement, jotting down the contact details of Wicked Z’s headquarters just off the main road in town. “It’s owned by the Mills sisters, Zelena and Regina, although big sister Zelena appears to be the main shareholder.”

“And no one there thought to report one of their employees as missing?” asked Emma, getting confirmation from David’s headshake. “Well gee, that’s not suspicious at all.”

“Exactly, which is why I’m even more keen to have a chat,” said David, shrugging into his brown leather jacket. “The Storybrooke Gazette ran a piece on them around six months ago now that I think about it. Something to do with side effects from one of their drinks?”

Emma followed David towards the building’s exit, brow furrowing in thought. “Actually, yeah. I remember we had a lot of patients at the hospital presenting with weird symptoms around that time and the main link were those energy drinks.”

“The health department got involved but the odd part was nobody sued Wicked Z for compensation.” David gave Emma a grin as he held the door open for her. “I guess no one had the _energy_.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “That’s another dollar in the ‘dad joke’ jar when we get back, _pops_ ,” she said with a wry smile. 

“At this rate I’ll be able to buy you that pony you’ve always wanted,” quipped David.

“Make it two ponies and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

David smirked, offering her a bow. “Anything for my favorite fake daughter.”

Killian was checking on his rodent test subjects when Emma returned to the morgue an hour later. “I take it from the perturbed look on your face that the sisters Mills weren’t as forthcoming with information as you’d hoped?” he asked, securing the lock on Smee’s cage before joining Emma at the computer desk.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah they’re real pieces of work those two,” Emma replied, peeling off her jacket and throwing it on the back of her chair. “They claimed Hopper had taken leave from work and assumed he was vacationing, but not in a Weekend at Bernie’s kinda way.”

“Try not to let this vex you, Swan,” said Killian, observing her gnawing at her bottom lip as she reread the autopsy notes for Dr. Hopper he’d left on the desk. “We’ll figure out who’s behind this.”

“That’s the thing though,” said Emma, glancing up from the notes with a pinched frown. “When David and I were leaving the Wicked Z office I could have sworn I overheard Zelena tell her sister to ‘get in contact with Victor’.”

Killian’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you think she meant Victor Whale?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I’m willing to bet my ass and yours that the slimy douchebag isn’t volunteering for charity in his spare time,” Emma muttered. “We’ll have to keep a closer eye on him.”

_Continued_


End file.
